


Mr. Rattlebone

by Shekiyah



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sad, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shekiyah/pseuds/Shekiyah
Summary: Tommy had taken Lizzie and made her stop whoring -- except for him when the need arose -- by providing her with a job that used the typing course she had taken. She didn't particularly mind the times he had bent her over the desk, breathing deeply into her ear and mumbling nonsense to himself. She knew that most times his mind was elsewhere and not with her, but Tommy had always been upfront about that. She knew it wasn't particularly love that brought him back to her, but familiarity and a sense of understanding.That didn't stop the surprise she felt when she woke up one rainy night to find him at her door, soaked and off his head.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Mr. Rattlebone

When Tommy Shelby first went to see Lizzie after the war, it was with little conversation. Sure, he was polite and even respectful, but he didn't come to speak. He came like a ghost or a wisp of smoke that slipped through the cracks and appeared for his purpose and he left just the same. His touch was soft until it wasn't and he would always leave the money on the nightstand or table before he disappeared again. It was always in the night, when the city and it's people slept. Not even God would have his eye on Small Heath when he appeared, if he ever did in the first place. He was a ghost that haunted her home, slinking in the shadows and claiming her body only to disappear in the daylight. The only trace of his haunting was the wad of bills on the dresser.

Lizzie often thought of him like he was made of glass. In a way, he was. He was a shell that needed to remember what life was, and those few moments together reminded him that he was still alive. She knew that he needed those nights with her because she wasn't someone he had to protect. Tommy Shelby was a man that was always in his head and worried about caring for those around him. Lizzie was a release. So she took his money and let him have his way, because she knew he wouldn't let her in his head to talk about what really bothered him. It wasn't Tommy Shelby's way. 

Tommy had taken Lizzie and made her stop whoring -- except for him when the need arose -- by providing her with a job that used the typing course she had taken. She didn't particularly mind the times he had bent her over the desk, breathing deeply into her ear and mumbling nonsense to himself. She knew that most times his mind was elsewhere and not with her, but Tommy had always been upfront about that. She knew it wasn't particularly love that brought him back to her, but familiarity and a sense of understanding. 

That didn't stop the surprise she felt when she woke up one rainy night to find him at her door, soaked and off his head. 

"Lizzie," he breathed, his eyes moved wildly and he slipped into her flat so quickly she hadn't even realized she moved back to allow him in. The breeze from the winter night blew right through her thin nightgown and she shivered before she shut the door.

"Tommy, it's late," Lizzie said as he frantically paced her entry. "What's happening, what's wrong?"

Lizzie tried to stop his pacing, grabbed for his arms as he cradled his head in his hands and paced, but he jolted from her grip like a timid horse and ran to her living room. She followed after him, arms extended but never quite close enough to touch him. He collapsed on her couch, staring into her fireplace and the embers that glowed within it. She slowly sat on the other side of the couch and sidled closer before she gently touched his shoulder.

Tommy jumped, looking up from his hands to her, but looked through her, his pupils restricting and expanding at random. 

"I saw her, Liz."

Tommy licked his dry lips and finally focused on Lizzie's face, noting the concern that lie between her eyebrows and the rigidity of her back as soon as he said 'her.'

"I saw Grace," he whispered, turning back to the fire. It was easier than looking at Lizzie's face. 

"Tommy," she said before her voice faltered. 

She squeezed his shoulder and tried again, voice softer.

"You know she's gone, Tom. She was shot. She's dead. You buried her months ago."

"Doesn't mean she's gone," Tommy said, his eyes scanning the fire before he abruptly stood up and grabbed a poker and stirred the flames. 

"She's around me," he said as he added a log to the fire. "She's in the house. She's watching me and Charlie. I can't get her voice out of my head. But tonight she appeared, Lizzie."

Tommy looked at her expectantly and defiantly, like he knew she would fight him. All she did was nod. He sat back down.

"I smoked again," he went on. "It's been years, but with her gone... I can't sleep. The house is too big. Too quiet. So I went to Chinatown. I set it up. And she appeared as soon as I leaned back, Liz. I can't -- she  _ spoke _ to me."

"It's the drugs," Lizzie said as she scooted closer and took his hands. "You're soaked. Let's get you closer to the fire to dry down. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you to change into. Let me get you a blanket."

Lizzie stood up. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down and held her face in his hands. She grabbed his forearms and watched his blue eyes search her face for the shadows that haunted his mind.

"No no no no, Lizzie, no," he mumbled as he leaned into her. "Don't leave me alone. She'll come back. I can't. I can't, Lizzie, I can't."

She hushed him as she touched their foreheads together, watching his eyes zone in and out in front of her. 

"It's just the drugs," she whispered as he muttered in Romani under his breath. "It's just the drugs and the grief. Jesus, Tommy, you're scaring me."

"She's telling me to die," he said as he looked behind her. "She's telling me I caused this and I should join her."

Lizzie grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes back to her. 

"She's not real, Tom."

Her eyes searched his pale face. He jumped at every movement, every noise. This was not even the shell of Tommy Shelby. This was something else entirely. He was completely lost in his grief and she wasn't sure if his family would ever get him back. 

"She's not real," she said louder and watched his eyes focus back to her, to now. "You're high and shivering wet and lost in your head. You've got to come back."

"Come back?" He breathed and his eyes cleared for a moment.

"Charlie is going to miss you in the morning," she said as she gave him a stern look. "A boy needs his father."

Tommy's face hardened for a moment, a storm alight in his eyes. Lizzie knew he was fighting something in his head, but could only guess. This conversation was the closest she'd ever been into Tommy Shelby's mind, and it was as broken and treacherous as she had imagined it to be. 

"I'm going to get you that blanket, Tommy," she said slowly.

She pulled his hands from her and raised to her feet slowly, as if she was afraid to set him off again. He was a tripwire to maneuver around. A bomb that could go off at any time. She walked backward from him, afraid that if she took her eyes from him he would disappear. He would become an apparition and slip into the cracks and be gone into the night again. Instead, he followed her into her bedroom with pleading eyes.

"I can't be alone, Liz," he mumbled, eye glassy. "She'll find me here. I didn't know where else to go, I--"

He crumbled at her feet, colliding his head into her stomach and wrapping his arms around her. Instinctively her hands ran through his hair and caressed his ailing head. Her stomach was instantly drenched by the rain on his head or the tears from his eyes, she wasn't sure if there was a difference. He nuzzled into her stomach and muttered more words she didn't understand. She curled herself around him and rocked him humming a tune, hoping it helped soothe him. 

"It's okay, you're okay," she said once the rocking seemed to calm him. His shoulders slumped and his grip loosened as his red eyes looked up at her. She melted, softened before him when she noticed how lost and young the deadliest man in Birmingham looked sitting at her feet.

"I've got one foot on each side, Liz," he croaked as he searched her face. "I need a foothold into reality. I need you."

Lizzie froze as his hands dropped to her legs and pushed her nightgown up up up past her knees, her hips, her stomach, her breasts. He kissed feverishly up up up as he lifted and threw the fabric across the room, ending his kiss on her lips. Her arms were still raised over her head as his hands circled her face and he kissed her with abandon. 

She softened into his touch as his hands dropped from her face and flitted across her body, trading soft touches for rough grabbing as he pushed her backward onto her bed, lost within his mutterings and kissing as he picked her up and pushed her across the bed under him. She reached for his shirt, pulling the vest and white button up from his pants, deftly unbuttoning everything and placing it to the side around his feverish worship of her form. If this is what he needed to ground himself into reality, he would get it. She could do this much for him, as she's always done.

She shut her brain off, bottled her feelings and cares to take care of the broken man before her. She let him lead as he liked, watched the wild blue eyes focus on her as he caressed and grabbed and growled as she undid his trousers. She soothed him as his growl hiccuped and cracked as her hand felt his length. His eyes clamped shut as she felt him grow. His tears fell on her before his knee pushed her legs apart and he entered her in a grunt, rocking them together through the dark storm of the night. 

She rocked with him, lifting her hands to his chest, up his neck, through his hair. She writhed below him and pulled on his hair. 

"Tommy," she moaned as he opened his eyes, looking at her. "You're here with me, you're alive with me."

"Say it," she said through gritted teeth as he increased the pace. "Say you're here."

"I'm here," he growled as his hips stuttered and he rocked faster and faster. "I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive."

He cursed under his breath as she felt the warmth between her legs. He collapsed on top of her, his head on her breast. He could hear her rapid heart beat beneath his ear and her breath as he relaxed into her touch. Her hands found his hair and she kissed the top of his head, running her fingers along his scalp as she looked at the shadows along the ceiling. 

"You're still here, Tommy," she said quietly into the dark. "Grace would want you to live, for your boy." 

Lizzie bit her lip as he sunk deeper against her body and wet her chest with his tears at the sound of her name. 

Lizzie might not have liked Grace -- God knows she hadn't trusted her. She was always green about how Tommy treated the woman, like she was a prized possession to be valued. Lizzie's only value to Tommy was secret visits that were easily swept under the rug with money. A transaction and nothing more. Grace was love. Lizzie was a means to escape, barely a person in his eyes. 

Lizzie wiped her own tear away quickly before knotting her hands back into Tommy's hair, massaging his scalp as his breath evened.

"Whatever is visiting you isn't her, Tommy," she whispered, feeling him relax and drift to sleep on top of her. "If she really loved you, she wouldn't ask you to end your life."

"She looks so real, Liz," he mumbled, holding her tighter for a moment as his brows furrowed and he looked up at her. "She sounds so real."

"I know," she hummed, massaging his scalp until his face softened and he nuzzled back into her chest. "I know, Tom."

"Liz?" Tommy said softly. "Thank you."

"I know," she repeated softly, listening as he finally fell asleep on top of her, leaving her to her own broken thoughts. 

The torture she allowed herself to feel for a moment ripped thorough her. She shivered but froze in fear of waking the man who had found peace in her arms. She shut off her feelings in order to help the only man she'd ever truly loved. Many had come and gone from her arms throughout the years, but he kept returning, quietly, sneakily, to find himself buried in her seeking peace. Maybe this time was different. Maybe he needed more than a night from her. This was the first time he'd ever slept after. 

Before Grace, it was haphazard, irregular meetings. He would come into the office and call her to his desk to be bent over like a breeding mare or he would slip into her flat like tonight, silent but wanting. He always would nod, leave the money on the dresser and be on his way. Tonight he slept. Tonight brought her  _ hope.  _

She caressed the sleeping man on her chest and allowed herself to drift off as well. As she was nearly asleep, Tommy whined the very word that broke her heart, shattering any hope she had. She fell asleep to him crying out for Grace in her arms.

Lizzie woke up to the morning light, alone with the throw blanket from the chair across the room over her body. She rolled to her side, clutching the blanket as a tear leaked from her eye. Money lay on her dresser.


End file.
